


The Island in the Mist

by ArchangelUnmei



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Fluff, Gen, Isolationism, Napoleonic Wars, Obscure History
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-06-11
Updated: 2011-06-11
Packaged: 2017-10-20 08:07:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,435
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/210597
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ArchangelUnmei/pseuds/ArchangelUnmei
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>1812. Napoleon reigns. Europe is bathing in blood, and the dark shadow of conflict stretches as far as North America and beyond. But one corner of Asia is peacefully, mercifully untouched and quiet.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Island in the Mist

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Fanart - Japan and Netherlands](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/3541) by Unknown. 



> There isn't enough about Netherlands and Japan in the English fandom, I think, and I learned an obscure bit of history the other day that made me decide to write about them. Not really shippy, though it could be if you decide to read into it.
> 
> Massive block of historical notes at the end of the fic. ;;; I apologize.

There is a bridge in Nagasaki, but Nihon doesn't know where it goes. A curtain of mist hangs over it, obscuring whatever lies beyond from view. His people don't seem to even see it, most of the time. They walk by and don't even pause, busy on their way to buy rice or tofu, and none of them ever turn to cross the bridge or seem to even consider it. It would be a good place to fish from, but no one does.

Nihon goes sometimes, loiters a little (but not too long) and wonders. But it never crosses his mind to actually step onto the bridge, either.

There is a bridge in Nagasaki, but today it isn't empty. The mist still hangs like a veil, Nihon cannot fathom what the bridge might connect to. But today a man stands on it, several long paces away from solid ground. Not that the bridge is rickety. On the contrary, it is straight and smooth and solidly constructed, but somehow Nihon cannot seem to think seriously about standing on it as this man is.

So Nihon stands on the other side of the street, sheltered in the doorway of a house, letting his people pass by unharried so he can watch this man on the bridge. Nihon wonders if he might be a ghost or a spirit or a _kami_ , because he most certainly doesn't look like any _nihonjin_. And besides, Nihon would _know_ if the man was one of his people.

The stranger is very tall and very pale, his hair the colour of dust that gets tracked in from the road. He is dressed so strangely as well; trousers pulled close around his legs, shoes that enclose his feet and legs completely up to the knee, a long coat with sleeves cut close to his arms. He's leaning back against the railing of the bridge, something in his posture speaking of inner strength but also a deep inner pain.

He must feel Nihon staring, because he raises his head and meets his eyes. Nihon starts, straightening up, and realizes that even the stranger's eyes are pale, pale like the clouds just after a storm.

He realizes this stranger is someone like him.

Nihon winds his way across the street, and hesitates for a long moment. He's not sure what he expects, but finally he does step onto the smooth wood of the bridge, and nothing happens. He lets out a soft breath and approaches the stranger, who has been watching him this entire time.

Up close he seems even more strange and wrong; his eyes too wide-set and round, his nose too long, his jaw too sharp. Nihon glances back over his shoulder, reassuring himself that the familiar rooftops and bustle of Nagasaki are still right behind him, he hasn't been swept away into some misty, _foreign_ world.

At least, not yet.

" _Sumimasen_ ," Nihon says politely, gaze centered somewhere around the stranger's collarbone. "May I ask who you are?" He thinks the better question might be _what_ you are, but he doesn't ask.

The stranger blinks at him, and perhaps it is because Nihon is good at reading the atmosphere but even on the strange, alien features this man looks tired. More than tired, deeply weary, haggard from some turmoil either internal or not. "...I'm Holland."

Nihon blinks. In the space between when his eyes close and when he opens them again, the mist has cleared away a little from over the bridge. Enough, anyway, for Nihon to catch a glimse of a flag flying, red and white and blue in wide horizontal bands.

He blinks again, and then he remembers.

"Holland-san," he bows, and a bit bemused, Holland bows back. "I'm very sorry. I would be happy to invite you to my home and offer tea, but..."

He pauses, and after a long moment Holland fills in the silence for him. "Your boss has policies. It's okay, I understand."

Nihon relaxes a little, relieved. The man before him is more familiar now _(a Nation, like himself, an emissary and symbol of some Other People, some people far away who are not_ nihonjin _)_ and Nihon thinks there are probably others like him, but he cannot seem to make his mind think about things beyond the borders of his own land. But, if they are both alike, perhaps other things are similar as well.

"And your own bosses, Holland-san," he extrapolates, making sure to keep his voice cool and neutral to mask that he doesn't really remember the other man much. "Are they well?"

Holland's face clouds over, his strange light eyes going dark, and Nihon immediately regrets asking. "No, of course you wouldn't know..." Holland murmurs, but quietly enough that Nihon suspects he wasn't meant to hear. "We're having a few minor problems," he says next, more loudly, but his lips twist as though the words taste bitter on his tongue. "But not anything that'll effect trade."

"That's a relief," Nihon agrees, but he watches Holland out from under his lashes. He looks so very tired, and there's new scars peeking out of his sleeves, the collar of his shirt, scars Nihon doesn't think he had before. He feels a stirring of concern, but it isn't in his nature to ask about such things.

He's still trying to figure out what to say when Holland speaks up again. "It looks like things are peaceful here."

Holland isn't looking at Nihon. He has his arms crossed, gazing down the length of the bridge at the bustle of Nagasaki. Nihon feels protective instincts flare until he looks up and sees _how_ Holland is looking at his people. Not possessive, or appraising, neither approving nor disapproving. He looks sad.

"Holland-san..." he starts, hesitantly, but Holland shakes his head.

"I envy you sometimes, Japan. Closing yourself off like this... There's pros and cons to everything, but at least you don't have to contend with that dammed _French_ -" he cuts himself off with an angry snarl, and Nihon swallows hard. Were he someone else, he might have reached out to touch Holland's arm, but he doesn't, and after a long minute Holland's growl fades into a sigh. He turns away from Nagasaki, looking off into the mist. It's cleared enough that Nihon can make out not only the flying flag _(Holland's flag, his mind supplies)_ , but a few buildings.

Trade. This is where the Dutch come to trade. Coffee and chocolate and beer for rice and sake and fish.

Nihon looks up at Holland again, glad that he's remembered, but something in Holland's face again stops him from saying anything. Something dark and bitter and hurting, something almost fragile.

"Islands have it easy," Holland mutters, then stops and shakes his head. He reaches into his coat pocket, pulling out a long thin pipe and a pouch of tobacco. He's not looking at his hands while he packs the pipe, he's smoked for long enough he can make the familiar gestures by rote. Nihon realizes he's watching his flag with something like longing on his face.

Nihon shifts his weight, staring and uncomfortable, sure this isn't something he was meant to see at all. "I, ah, Holland-san, I should-"

"Of course," Holland looks back at him, expression closing off again as he pulls out a match, lifts his foot to strike it across the sole of his boot. "Business never stops. Neither does war. I should be going too." He takes a long drag off his pipe, looking at Nihon again. "...Hey, Japan."

Nihon blinks, tilting his head politely. "Yes, Holland-san?"

Holland hesitates, gaze drifting back toward the buildings of Dejima, his red-white-blue flag flying above them. "I'll be back. For sure. So just... keep flying my flag, alright? Let this place stay Dutch."

Nihon furrows his brow a little. Why would that change? "Of course, Holland-san."

Holland takes another long drag of smoke, then sighs, and when he sighs a little of the tension in his shoulders seems to ease. "Arigatou, then." He mispronounces it by a bit, but the effort makes Nihon blush a little in pride nevertheless. "I should go."

Holland turns away, waving a hand absently over his shoulder as he strides back toward Dejima, the smoke from his pipe curling and blending into the mist that closes in around him, until he's lost in it and Nihon can no longer see him. Nihon looks up, eyes tracing the flag before it too is swallowed away.

There is a bridge in Nagasaki. Sometimes, Nihon may not remember where it goes. But he remembers that it is important.

**Author's Note:**

> As far as Japanese history goes, this is set during the Edo Period, when Japan had an extremely isolationist viewpoint _(sakoku)_ and only kept trade relations with three countries; China, Korea and the Netherlands. When they were no longer allowed to trade in the main cities, the Dutch traders took over an artificial island called Dejima off the coast of Nagasaki City that had originally been built for the Portuguese to use. They were only allowed on that island, not the Japanese mainland, and were watched closely at all times.
> 
> Meanwhile though, the Netherlands didn't fair too well in the Napoleonic Wars. In 1795 the Dutch stadtholder fled for England, and after that there was a series of French-controlled puppet kingdoms until Napoleon just gave up and incorporated the Netherlands as part of the French Empire from 1810 until late 1813, when the son of the former stadtholder returned and was named prince, and then later King of the Netherlands.
> 
> Combined with the fact that several Dutch territories were lost to the British around the same time; during those four years the only place where the Dutch flag was flying free was in Dejima. The Dutch commissioner there (Hendrik Doeff) severed ties with the French-controlled Netherlands and refused to acknowledge the French leadership. (To be fair though, it may not have been the modern red-white-blue flag, but I couldn't find any definite source so that's the one I used).
> 
> Also, Netherlands was lying when he said it wouldn't effect trade. Between British privateering and French control, the Dutch had to rely on neutral Danish and American ships to trade with Japan, which was allowed as long as the trade goods and personnel were still Dutch-only.
> 
> Coffee, chocolate and beer were three things first introduced to the Japanese by Dutch traders.
> 
> Japan's memory problems and the mental 'mist' are just my way of showing how the people's way of thinking can influence a Nation, and how very isolated he was during that time. *Shrug* Just my interpretation.
> 
> And finally, since this was more or less from Japan's perspective, I chose to use the Japanese names for the countries; 'Nihon' and 'Holland' as opposed to 'Japan' and 'the Netherlands'.


End file.
